


i'd rather play here (with all the madmen)

by outofaith



Series: it's pointless to be high [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bottom Zayn Malik, Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Paranoia, References to David Bowie, Rich Liam, Rich Zayn Malik, Singer Zayn Malik, Top Liam, also, based on my own experiences so there's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofaith/pseuds/outofaith
Summary: Zayn and Liam have this thing going where they're either so high they can barely function or so far into a scene that they can't think of anything else besides the impending orgasmic bliss. It's not healthy, it really isn't, but at least when they're like that, shitfaced and floating away, they can't hear the voices that are constantly screaming inside their minds.





	i'd rather play here (with all the madmen)

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo, don't try this at home, guys. It's based on my own experiences with basically everything that's there apart from the fact that they're rich and able to afford shit. Anyway, have at it and be fucking safe.

This thing they did, they knew, rationally, that it wasn’t healthy. Logically, drinking until they passed out or the alternative, getting high on a very diverse cocktail, or yet, their favorite of the two: doing both at the same time, was only going to lead to the obvious answer, and it wasn’t pretty.

Still, they couldn’t find it in themselves to care, too busy finding desperate ways to escape the demons inside their own minds and quieten the rage into a fading thrum of annoyance that got easier and easier to ignore as long as the constant flow of things that were stronger, even if for a measured time, than the screaming voices in their heads.

Another thing that couldn’t possibly be healthy – or safe, for that matter – was the amount and, more specifically, the kind of sex that they engaged into. Never wanting to get bored and craving control of something in their lives was how they discovered the sensual world of Dominance and Submission.

As soon as they started to duel on that idea, they ran into countless of recommendations and warnings.

“Don’t start a scene if either of the parts are under any kind of influence.”

Or, the famous: Safe, sane and consensual.

Well, they got the consensual part right, as for the others, they were quite used to bending the rules.

Still, wasn’t safe or right or healthy. But it was an escape and it gave them a kind of high that they weren’t familiar with.

It wasn’t to say that they didn’t try their very best. They agreed, after a very close call, to never engage into a scene if they were too out of it. Never when they were drunk, never when they were high. After the scene, though, that was a whole different story.

So, that’s how they found themselves buying a plethora of toys and acessories that ended up filling an entire room at Liam’s penthouse, the one that he was considering turning into a game room. He supposed it was some kind of play room, much more enjoyable than a pool table (he ended up buying one of those anyway, it now decorated one of his living rooms).

It had everything they could think of trying and everything that even remotely worked into turning them on when they spent an entire weekend getting high on mary and watching porn.

It was big and spacious, with no windows and a lot of mirrors. The walls were gray. It featured hardwood floors and everything inside was custom made just for them. Liam took a twisted kind of pleasure upon seeing his initials on everything, from the bed to the whips and the collars that Zayn designed himself.

On the far back, on an elevated space, was placed a bondage bed custom made to be king sized decorated with a thick black duvet and egyptian sheets, above and on both sides it had big mirrors. On the regular floor, it had on the far right wall a big marble fireplace and in front of that, a black velvet chaise and a balck wooden table. To the side of that, a leather padded St. Andrew’s cross and a padded spanking bench. Falling from the ceiling, a sex swing made specially for Zayn’s body type. On the middle of the room there were chains attached to the high ceilings that could be adjusted for a number of situations.

On the left side of the room was where they kept all the toys. Placed proudly on the wall were a variety of whips, floggers, paddles and riding crops. Underneath that, a wooden dresser with long drawers where were disposed collars, leashes, gags, muzzles and chastity devices. Then there was the cabinet, with the restraint equipament, dildos and vibrators, rings and spreaders and a myriad of toys. To wrap it all up, a closet with different costumes, underwear, lingerie and any kind of clothing they could ever want to play with.

It had it’s perks, having more money that they knew how to spend.

They weren’t a couple, not by a long shot. They cared for one another, sure, they helped the other turn to the side so they wouldn’t choke in their own puke and they always nursed the aftermath of a bender together. 

They also helped each other through the tough moments. Because Liam, with his BPD diagnosis, had an explanation for his fits of rage and humor oscilations that came as quick as they went. Zayn, for his part, never wanted to see a doctor, too afraid maybe, or perhaps only used to it, used to the strange creatures that he sometimes saw, looking just like him, but with black eyes and a sinister smile, always looming – sometimes big enough that it was the only thing he could see and, other times, so small it could fit inside his pocket. Sometimes quiet, just staring at him with its judgmental dark eyes and sarcastic sneer, other times, like when he was in front of a mirror or right before a concert, spilling vile things that made him so distressed because they ringed far too close to the truth for his liking. And then, the worst of them all, he guessed, when he was lying awake in bed, a sheer layer of cold sweat and the creature screamed – so loud he couldn’t focus on anything else apart from its screeches.

So, yes, their experiences were different, but after three years of friendship, perhaps not quite, they were used to it and knew just what to do to make the overwhelming feeling of helplessness fade just enough that they could fall into a fitful sleep.

Perhaps that was what lead them to their current situation. Because they couldn’t fool themselves anymore, they were drowning, but at least they were drowning together.

Maybe it was just a bunch of excuses, or maybe it was the twisted reality of their lives. Maybe it was karma for having so much and pratically throw it all away when others didn’t have that same chance. Regardless, it was the reality that they were handed and they were making the most of it. Sure, in a very unhealthy way, surviving on a cocktail of drugs and expensive liquor, but still, surviving.

So no, they weren’t dating, not a couple by a long shot. But they also weren’t friends, no, they were more than that. More than friends, less than a couple. They would never say it, but they guessed they were the closest things to beacons of hope that they could find and they would be damned if they would let that go.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think!


End file.
